


fourteen

by Avvu



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Non-Chronological, spoilers for MAG 170
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 18:47:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24900310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avvu/pseuds/Avvu
Summary: The first timehesays it, Martin knows the words are coming before any voice comes out of his mouth.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 2
Kudos: 69





	fourteen

**Author's Note:**

> i may have binge-listened all of TMA in two weeks, and i had feels. it's nice, though. it has been such a long time since something new has made me ache so much i've had to get it out of me in words. so here's my take on jonmartin.

The first time  _ he _ says it, Martin knows the words are coming before any voice comes out of his mouth. The words make him tremble all over, it’s almost like his body tries to fight back, swallow down syllables before they touch air. Martin knows, Martin  _ feels _ it, and it makes his chest feel tight and heavy to see how  _ he _ struggles with the words.

It’s not that he doesn’t mean them, Martin knows that much. It’s only that saying it makes it real, and that is scarier than anything else they’ve come across before, any Fear and any avatar. It won’t kill them, possibly, but it will hurt, eventually. Nevertheless, Martin has waited for this, he has dreamed of it, he has written about it, and now that it’s happening, he doesn’t know what he should do, what he should say to make it easier. He looks at Martin, but his irises fidget as they try to focus on many places at once, he tries to look at Martin in the eyes, but cannot. He stumbles upon the words, his voice breaks over  _ l-o-v-e _ , it’s raw and open and true, and Martin doesn’t sob because of it, but because they’re alive, and the world is a mess around them, and they are alive, and they are not alone. 

The fourth, fifth and sixth times  _ he _ says it, it’s dark, and there are yet nights. He whispers it in the darkness somewhere in Scotland, who even knows any more. They are safe, it feels safer by the minute in there, it feels comfortable. The cabin smells like tea and earth, in all the good ways, and he sleeps more in there than Martin has ever noticed before. And when he says it, it’s getting easier every time. The fourth time is a breath against Martin’s neck, the fifth a whisper he lets out half asleep. The sixth time he says it in the early morning darkness, their feet tangled and their breath shared. The words feel like home.

The world ends between the seventh and the eight times. The seventh time  _ he _ says it with a smile, over a cup of tea. It’s mundane, it’s domestic even, it makes Martin’s fingertips tingle with feelings he has tried to suppress. Martin says it back, and he says it first, and he savours the moment and writes it down for himself. Martin doesn’t want to forget it, how his ankle touches his under the table, and how the light shines from the window behind him, and makes him a soft, golden halo. The eighth time seems like a last. The world  _ ends _ , it grumbles beneath, and the sky burns and waves and watches them, and he has his face up to it. When he says it, it’s a manic cry of helplessness, Martin says it first for reassurance, to tell him he still does, he _ still _ does, and he says it back like it burns, like it doesn’t, like it wouldn’t help. It doesn’t kill them, but it hurts. __

The second time he says it, he’s bright-eyed, and it sounds like a revelation to him. Not the words exactly, but that he can say them. A revelation in which the syllables come out of his mouth, and the words are clear. He touches Martin’s face with shaky fingers, and Martin says it back again and again and again even though it goes without saying. The feeling is there, he radiates with it, with the softness of it. It’s not scary, it’s liberating. 

It’s not scary.

The tenth and the eleventh time have a  _ but _ in them. It’s not audible, but it’s there. It waters it down, like it’s sort of weakness, when it’s not. It’s humanity, it’s something they still have even if they don’t have the world any longer. It is there, and it’s true, and it’s raw, and it hurts, but it’s there. Martin wants to shake him, make him look into his eyes, and he wants to drown him into it. Into the emotion. They must still be humans if it hurts. Hurting is human,  _ loving _ is human, and they do. They do hurt. And it’s scary again. 

The ninth time  _ he _ says it, it’s after they listen to the tapes. They hear Tim and Sasha, they are  _ happy _ and  _ alive, _ and it  _ hurts _ . And when he says it, it sounds like an apology.

The twelfth time  _ he _ says it, the world burns around them, it screams and burns, and the flames go so high they touch the sky, but yet still the sky watches them burn. The fire doesn’t stop, it continues for eternity, and all the people inside, they burn, and they scream, and Martin hopes they will die. The heat makes Martin choke and sob, it doesn’t feel safe there, he just wants to go away from there. He can’t save anyone, he knows that, and  _ he  _ isn’t helping. He helps Martin to stand up and guides them out of the fire, Martin’s throat and lungs feel hot and too dry, and it scares him. And when Martin’s legs don’t work, he helps him up and rambles on  _ we’re alright, I love you, you’re alright _ . 

The third time  _ he _ says it, it’s hurried, and it means ‘be safe’ more than the actual words. It’s a firm squeeze of his hand, it lasts less than a heartbeat.

The thirteenth time  _ he _ says it, he curses, and pulls Martin closer and closer and closer, and Martin is not alone, and Martin is not lonely. He is in love, and he is loved, and it hurts, but it’s better than not knowing that. The fog has made it hard to remember, but he does now, and he won’t let that go, he won’t ever let that go ever again. Martin clings to the memories, uses the words as his anchor in the endless sea of endings and death and darkness. Martin breathes in, his heart pounds in a way it feels like it breaks against the ribcage, but it’s better than not knowing that.

The fourteenth time Jon says it, Martin says it back.


End file.
